


need a little sweetness in my life

by lettersfromnowhere



Series: never use last with us (romy fic) [2]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Flirting Youths™, Mr. and Mrs. X-compliant, Pure Unadulterated Fluff, what am I doing? the world may never know, with Banter™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:24:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromnowhere/pseuds/lettersfromnowhere
Summary: Rogue and Gambit have defeated many a formidable foe and lived to tell the tale, but this time is different...and it could well bebreakfastthat finally does them in.(The absolutely ridiculous "Rogue and Gambit attempt, rather unsuccessfully, to make breakfast" one-shot that absolutely no one asked for.)





	need a little sweetness in my life

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember if I saw this in canon, read it in a fanfic, or just made it up, but for some reason I've always had the idea that Gambit would be a great cook and Rogue would turn any kitchen she entered into a federal disaster area. Whatever the origin of that idea is, the idea of them attempting to cook together was just too irresistible to pass up. And I loved the result - this is one of my favorite things I've ever written, despite being 97% dialogue and, y'know, absolutely ridiculous. I hope you smile as much while reading this as I did while writing it.
> 
> This might - and I mean MIGHT, no guarantees - become sort of a series of similarly fluffy/humorous one-shots about Rogue and Gambit's adventures in (attempted) adulting. I don't know if I have enough similar ideas to pull that off and I highly doubt anyone *wants* to read that much copious Romy fluff, but it's in the cards (pun not intended, but it should have been, now that I think of it!). Enjoy.

"You have to  _level the flour!"_ Remy practically shrieked, scrambling to grab an overflowing measuring cup of flour from his hapless wife. 

"I gotta  _what_ now?" Rogue said, growing ever more exasperated. "What's a little extra flour gonna do?" 

" _'What's a little extra flour gonna do?_ '" he repeated, looking rather sick. "Coulda ruined the whole thing,  _chere!_ You can't...you can't just..." 

"I never knew you had such strong opinions about cookin'," Rogue teased, enjoying Remy's flustered expression more than she cared to admit. _That all it takes?_ she wondered. "All right, if you're such an expert, mind telling me what I'm s'posed to do with the baking powder?" 

"You measure it," Remy said, confusion written all over his face - _she can't really be this clueless, can she?,_ it seemed to say. "An' then ya put it in with the other dry ingredients." 

"Which ones are the dry ingr-" 

"Which ones does it  _sound_ like that means?" Remy sighed. 

"Uh, the sand ingredients," Rogue said, glancing down into the dry ingredients bowl currently populated only by the flour. "Y'know, the ones that're...like sand." 

"Sand ingredients." Remy didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "'m not sure what to think 'bout that."

"You know it makes sense," Rogue protested, leveling off the baking powder against the side of the can with a pointed glare. "Notice that I  _leveled the sand ingredients_ this time." 

"Better," Remy conceded. "Still don't like 'sand ingredients,' though." 

"Why do you think I'm still sayin' that all the time?" Rogue elbowed his side teasingly. "You're too easy, LeBeau." 

"You do 'member that that's  _your_ name now, too?" Remy countered, trying (extremely unsuccessfully) to resist the urge to grin like an idiot. "Can't be usin' it t'-" 

"And that's relevant why?" Rogue raised her eyebrows, measuring out the salt (miraculously, without needing correction). 

"'s prob'ly not," Remy admitted, "but I _do_ love remindin' you that you married me." 

" _Please,_ " Rogue muttered, smiling sheepishly in spite of herself. "Now, you gonna criticize the way I pour the salt in or what?" 

"Actually, no." Remy leaned back against the kitchen counter, simply observing her in motion. "Nothin' wrong with the way you did that, shocking as that may be."

"See?  _See?"_ Rogue cried. "I  _can_ cook!" 

"All you did was pour a half-teaspoon of salt into a bowl," Remy reminded her. "Not sure I'd call that 'cooking.' But sure ya do,  _chere._ If that's what you wanna think."

"Oh, shut up," Rogue muttered. "Did you plug in the waffle iron? Needs to preheat." 

"Uh..." 

"Mm-hm." Rogue smiled knowingly. "Good thing little miss I-Can't-Cook did it for ya." 

"Are you gloating?" Remy asked. "I think you're gl-" 

"Def'nitely gloatin'," Rogue said. "Now what? This ain't batter yet-" 

"Does it ever cross y'mind that you might wanna look at the recipe?" 

"Why would I do that? 's more  _efficient_ if ya just...wing it," Rogue said, nevertheless obliging. "Nah, m'kidding. Not gonna lie, startin' to think it's kinda cute when my bad cookin' makes you mad."

"And  _I'm_ startin' to think I'll never understand how your diabolical li'l mind works," Remy shot back playfully, resting his chin atop Rogue's hair while she puzzled over the instructions. "Why would you  _ever_ threaten to ruin perfectly good waffles just t' get me all riled up?" 

"Oh, I wouldn't," Rogue replied. He could  _hear_ the smug smirk in her voice without even needing to see her face. "And Remy?" 

"Yes,  _mon coeur?"_ he asked, nuzzling his cheek against her hair for effect. 

"Stop tryin' to distract me." 

"What, is it working?" Remy rested his hands on the sleeves of her fluffy bathrobe. "Take that as a yes." 

Rogue smacked him with a kitchen towel. "Do you _want_ the waffles to burn?" 

"How could they? We haven't even put them in yet!" he protested, refusing to let go. She was quite warm and rather soft, and he didn't feel like releasing her yet. 

"Okay,  _fine._ I yield," Rogue sighed, leaning back into his embrace. She couldn't pretend it wasn't a _welcome_ distraction. "Now what'm I supposed to do with the eggs?" 

"Again,  _chere,_ I am _not_ the recipe." Remy handed her a sheet of flour-coated paper. "Says to, uh...beat them in a separate bowl." 

"Okay, I'm throwing down the gauntlet. That's your job," Rogue said, shoving him towards the cabinet where they kept extra dishes. He shot her a wounded glare. "What? You  _know_ I'd get the shells in it. You wanna eat shells or-" 

"Point taken." Remy fetched said bowl and set about beating the eggs. Rogue privately wondered how he'd learned to be a competent - well, not just competent,  _skilled -_ cook, but she'd never admit it. Nope. Not ever. "Can you hand me the milk?" 

"Already took care of that," Rogue said smugly, passing him a bowl of suspicious-looking liquid. "Milk, butter, and vanilla. Checkmate, Cajun." 

"You sure you measured this stuff right?" Remy asked, sloshing the liquid in the bowl to examine its contents. "Looks a little off." 

"Oh, come on, can't you give me  _any_ credit? I can  _read,_ you know-" 

"Eh, prob'ly not too bad," Remy decided, dumping the mixture into the beaten eggs. "See? 'm a good teacher. You're learning. Slowly, but-" 

"You give yourself too much credit," Rogue teased. "'sides,  _anyone_ can measure ingredients. Don't get ahead of yourself when the _real_ challenge is gonna be making sure these things don't burn. Better not distract me." 

Remy sighed. "Right. Forgot about that. Can you hand me the, uh... _sand ingredients?"_

 _"Ha!"_ Rogue cackled. "See? I  _told_ you it makes sense!" 

"Of course,  _ma colombe,"_ Remy teased. "We both know you're always right." 

"Darn straight," she replied, sliding the dry ingredients bowl across the counter like a hockey puck. Remy looked, again, rather green at this reckless treatment of necessary ingredients. "You're learnin', too. Quick study." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning back to...whatever nonexistent task she'd convinced herself she needed to be doing at the moment. 

"So. You forget that after we finish eating all this, we have to clean?" Remy asked after a comfortable silence. 

"Ugh, don't remind me." Rogue watched the preheating waffle maker as if it contained the greatest secrets of the universe. "Can we just have some waffles before we worry about the fact that there's flour on the ceiling?"

"There's...how... _what?"_ Remy sputtered, frantically glancing at the ceiling. "How did you  _possibly-"_

"Relax, sugar. I'm  _kidding._ You really are too easy," Rogue said. "But honestly, I wouldn't be surprised..." 

"In that case, I agree," Remy acquiesced. "Let's cross that bridge when we come t'it." 

"So you gonna start these up or not?" Rogue gestured to the waffle maker. "She awaits her tribute, y'know." 

"She?" Remy couldn't help but smile as he obliged. "Wasn't aware that you named the waffle iron." 

"Why  _wouldn't_ I? This's Cordelia." She patted the appliance like a dog, unperturbed by the heat visibly radiating from its sides. 

"Uh, maybe because it was one'a those useless wedding presents we didn't touch until you decided you wanted waffles for no particular reason?" 

"Shh. She's easily offended." 

"You're nuts,  _chere,_ y'know that?" Remy closed the lid with a  _thwack_ and turned back to her. 

"I was aware, yes," Rogue teased. "As should you be. You're the one who married me, after all." 

"Mm. And how unsanitary would it be if I were to kiss ya-" 

"Extremely." 

"But-" 

"Waffles first," Rogue said mock-sternly. 

"Your priorities-" 

"Are _perfect,_ " Rouge insisted. "You know I love ya, but did you  _really_ expect me to put you ahead'a carbs on my list of priorities?" 

"Yeah, but they're still cooking!" Remy protested. "They're not gonna go any faster-" 

" _Fine."_ Rogue leaned in, lacing her arms around his neck. "I'll allow it. But only this once." 

Time always had a tendency to get away from itself when his lips met hers; for a moment that felt like the blink of an eye, she let him kiss her, until-

She pulled away (albeit reluctantly). "How long has it been?" Rogue asked, sniffing the air and recoiling. "Smells like-" 

"Uh...maybe five minutes?" Remy admitted, gesturing to the waffle iron. "Those things definitely burnt." 

Rogue clucked her tongue. "What'd I tell you, Cajun?  _Distraction."_

"We won't burn the next ones," he reassured her, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. "...right?" 

"We better not," Rogue said crossly. "I'm getting hangry." 

"What do you say we eat these burned ones as an appetizer?" Remy offered, shrugging. "Can't be _that_ bad." 

"Who am I kidding? I was gonna do that anyway." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone cares enough to be mad that I quoted a recipe verbatim without citing my source, here it is: https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/20513/classic-waffles/?internalSource=hub%20recipe&referringContentType=Search


End file.
